


From Out of the Cold

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly reimbodied Elenwë cannot rest or begin to heal until she has gone to see Anairë in Tirion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Out of the Cold

Anairë had not been expecting a visitor today.

So when she heard a tentative tapping on the door knocker she started, a spark of curiosity awakening in her. The house was so large and above all empty these days, that even the quiet sound seemed to echo through the rooms, reverberating off walls which had once rang with the sound of her children’s laughter. (These days they only reflected the sound of her own voice back to her when she spoke out loud, if only to break the silence for a moment.)

She padded down the broad sweep of the staircase, wondering who it could be. As she opened the door though, she felt a wave of dread, mingled with joy and pain as she saw the woman who was waiting there take down her hood, golden hair spilling across her shoulders.

“Elenwë” she said finally, staring at her, the face that she knew so well, the sight of which was nevertheless a punch in the chest, “You…” her voice cracked, “you look…”  _You look the same, and it hurts to see._  Anairë drew in a breath. “You are most welcome here.”

“Anairë” said her daughter-in-law, giving her an awkward half bow and twisting her hands together. “As soon as Námo released me, I went to my parents on Taniquetil but… I wasn’t… _happy_  there, not until…” she looked up at Anairë uncomfortably, her face paler than it had been before, Anairë noticed _. But then most everyone was these days, despite the knew lights in the sky._  “I had to see you. To  _tell_  you” said Elenwë, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Anairë took Elenwë in her arms, holding her tightly and biting back tears, as though that could delay the prospect of finding out what had happened to bring Elenwë back to her doorstep. After a moment the younger woman wrapped her arms slowly around Anairë’s shoulders, leaning into the embrace. Anairë pressed her cheek against Elenwë’s woollen cloak, inhaling the scent of her and feeling the warmth from her body, real, corporeal things that she could hold onto. Things that nevertheless hinted at tragedy and loss, disaster, by her very presence.

Anairë drew back, holding Elenwë by the shoulders and giving her a long, searching look as she collected herself after the initial shock. “My dear, look at us standing out here on the doorstep.” She gave quiet laugh, trying to hold back the tears. “Come inside. We… you’re right, I think we have things to talk about.”

 ————

They were seated in Anairë’s private sitting room, for Anairë had not the heart to use the main drawing room anymore.  _The room where Itarillë knocked over the vase that time, and Finno cut his fingers trying to clean up the broken glass before she hurt her feet…_  she gritted her teeth, willing herself not to think of those days now, at the risk of hot tears welling in her eyes again. Elenwë would have it difficult enough.

“You… I think you had better tell me what happened” said Anairë at last, pouring Elenwë a cup of tea from the fresh pot she had made for them, the steam dancing in the sunlight. “If you would.”

Elenwë accepted the cup gratefully. “Of course” she said, forcing a smile, steeling herself, or so it appeared to Anairë. “That was why I came, truly. I feel I owe you the right to hear it from me, rather than…” she took a deep breath and sipped her tea, trying to steady the waver in her voice, her face determined. “Many and more will be… returning soon, Anairë” she said quietly.

“Yes” said Anairë, a sick feeling clawing at her stomach as she realised the implication behind the words. She grasped Elenwë’s hand tightly in her own. “Yes, I think it’s best if you tell me everything.”

So she did. Elenwë talked slowly at first, haltingly, but picking up pace all the time as the words came more easily. She spoke of a red glow on the horizon, or ice and winds cold enough the burn the skin, to claim fingers and toes and to leach the warm bright life from the people they had both known. Of their family, Ñolofinwë’s relentless determination that drew them on. The pain in Findekáno’s heart as he darted glances backwards as though the ghosts of Alqualondë followed him, stealing looks forward as though trying to see how far they had left to go until they reached the new lands. Arakáno and Irissë, rubbing each other’s hands to try to keep warm. Turukáno and Itarillë, the small family of three that had been, curled together under furs. Sleeping with their child cradled between their bodies to give her a little more warmth. Tears started in her eyes when she spoke of that, but she kept talking, the words falling from her lips in a rush now. The deaths, from cold, starvation, exhaustion, or simply from despair.

And then as quickly as falling, the story ended.

“After that” said Elenwë, “it was only greyness, Mandos, and then…” she shrugged, rubbing her bare forearms uncomfortably and cupping her hands around her now empty teacup, as if the room had grown cold simply at her words. Anairë poured her another cup. “As I said, I… I had to see you. To tell you.”

Anairë could think of nothing to say.

“There’s one more thing” said Elenwë. “Turno… he saved Itarillë. He could have saved me, but he saved her.” Her voice was forceful. “I love him all the more because he did that. I love him so much. Although he will surely hate himself for it.” There was anguish in her voice now.

Anairë was silent, trying to think of something to say, but the words would not come.  


“I am glad he did. I want her  _safe_ , Anairë, I want her safe - ” Elenwë’s hands balled into fists. “I would gladly give all the lives the Valar would ever allow me to live, if only it could keep them safe. I’m worried about Turno, that’s he’ll do something… unwise.”

Anairë gritted her teeth, not quite trusting herself to speak. “I feel the same” she said, realising as she said it that it was true.  _Oh Eru, if I could only save them…_  she wanted to scream, to run and never stop, to drag them back from the frozen nightmare they suffered in. _But it is too late. Ñolwë made his choice, and I made mine._  My children chose him. The thought ripped open the old wound anew.

“Thank you” she said uncertainly. “For telling me.”

Elenwë squeezed her hand. “I thought you, for one, had a right to know.”


End file.
